Olive Kitteridge.

um, I don’t get it.

Granted I typically don’t like short story collections, I don’t like my reading enjoyment interrupted every ten or twenty pages by a whole new cast of characters- I’m shallow like that- but I picked up Olive Kitteridge because I had read good reviews of it and, let’s face it, the book won the Pulitzer Prize so I figured it’s got to be good right?

eh, not so much.

I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s certainly well written and I love the way Elizabeth Strout wove each of the thirteen short stories in and around Olive Kitteridge- a central character that kinda makes the book read more like a novel and less like a collection of short stories.

And make no mistake about it, I really did enjoy reading it. Hell, if you’re a chick, some of the stories might even make you cry.

But.

When I finished it and set it down and thought about it for a little bit- a real little bit ’cause I’m shallow like that too– I have to admit I found myself wondering what all the fuss was about. I mean it’s good, but it’s not THAT good.

So.

In my humble opinion? It’s well worth reading but I guess maybe I was just expecting a little bit more from a book that won the Pulitzer Prize.

Next up- Affliction by Russell Banks